A/N: I know it's been forever and a day and I'm so sorry this update has taken so long. Suffice it to say this new season of the show, while poking holes in some of my theories and headcanons, is hopefully going to keep this ball rolling until this story is complete. Much love!

xx-Kitten.

Winter Storm

By Kittenshift17

Chapter 16: The Calm

The days preceding the wedding raced by in a blur for Arya. Bran, Rickon and Jon arrived from Winterfell, a large host of Northmen in tow, come to celebrate her wedding. Every house of the Seven Kingdoms seemed to send representatives and things had gotten so crowded that Arya couldn't find a moment's peace within the castle walls.

Mother roused after her constantly, making sure several times that her dress would fit her and that everything else would be just so. It had become Arya's task to ensure the women of her age were all seen to and she wasn't thrilled about. Good practice, Father had called it. He'd reminded her that, after the wedding, everyone would go on home to their own castles and their own lives, only coming together for other weddings and events, or in times of war.

It was a rare thing indeed to get so many people gathered together as they were at Storm's End. Father insisted that she mend fences with women she had sneered at in the past and though she'd been reluctant to do so, Arya reminded herself constantly that if she didn't, things would be awkward with them at later dates. She was to be Lady Baratheon of Storm's End and as such she had a number of responsibilities.

She was also finding that everything she had to do was more tolerable with Gendry involved. She enjoyed seeing her sister's confused expression every time she did something lady-like and mature. She also rather liked the way her mother had taken to looking at her with growing pride, rather than always scolding her for things. Not that she would ever admit it, of course.

"So, is it true?" Jon asked her, leaning against the battlements high up on the castle's wall where he'd insisted he must be allowed time to speak with his favourite sibling in peace.

"Is what true?" Arya asked him, eyeing him fondly.

"Is it true that you've fallen in love with him? That the wild little beast I so recall from our youth has been tamed?"

Arya stared at him, affronted.

"Someone said that?"

"Everyone's saying that. They are all shocked by your ability to play nicely when they've heard so many horrid things about you in the past. Many of them hadn't met you, of course, but nonetheless, you have surprised many of us. I almost didn't recognise you when you greeted us at the gates on Gendry's arm."

"I look the same as ever," Arya rolled her eyes at him.

"No you don't, sweet sister," Jon told her fondly, throwing an arm around her shoulders and ruffling her dark hair affectionately. "You carry yourself differently now. You have always been bold, confident, willing to stand up for what you believe in, and willing to put anyone who challenges you in their place. But for all that, you also had a look of harsh defiance to you. A sharpness that spoke of your fury over the way the world perceived your behaviour. When you met us at the gate, you no longer had that bitter cast to you."

Arya raised her eyebrows at him.

"You think I am going soft?" she asked him.

"No," Jon shook his head. "I think that you've always felt you have to prove something. That you braced yourself for the judgement of others, anticipating it before you received it and steeling yourself against it. You no longer brace for it. You are simply content to do as you please without feeling like you have to prove to everyone that you are allowed. Having seen the way you and Gendry act together, and having heard the tales of the way you interact, I think it's because you know he approves of what you do and so you don't care what everyone else thinks."

"I don't care what anyone thinks," Arya rolled her eyes. "At least, not when it comes to their notions about me being lady."

"No, you don't," Jon agreed, giving her a small smile. "But you've always cared entirely too much what everyone thought about you being mistaken for one. You always corrected people who used your title. You scoffed at gossip and dresses, and usually couldn't even stand to be in the company of other women lest you be lumped in with them as a silly little twit giggling about boys or sewing or who was seen sneaking out of Theon's rooms."

Arya blinked at him, supposing that was true.

"Instead, you tagged after me and Robb. You snuck out of your dancing lessons to listen to our lessons about running a castle and riding into battle and how to shoot a bow. You got muddy and dirty. You went riding by yourself. The only people you numbered as friends were boys."

"Do you have a point?" Arya interrupted.

"Well, let's just say that I watched you actually speak civilly to Sansa this morning for nigh on a half hour about the state of her pregnancy and the gossips all married women tell betrothed women. I also watched you flit back and forth to the conversation me and Edric were having with Gendry about the likelihood of another Greyjoy uprising and whether there would be war with the Lannisters after Larissa sent an assassin after Gendry to frame you. And for the first time in my memory, you brushed off Bran's sly comment about how silly girls talked about silly wedding details and went right on arguing with Gendry about the merits of sending Lannister a beheaded lion's corpse without paying his teasing any mind, all before going back to the discussion the women were having about pregnancy."

"And you think that means Gendry has somehow tamed me?" she asked, raising her eyebrows at him in challenge.

"I think he settles you," Jon said quietly. "He makes you feel comfortable in being exactly who you are, whether that means talking babies or war tactics. I haven't see you get muddy even once since I arrived."

"You've only been here two days," Arya laughed. "But I won't deny that Gendry's acceptance of my boyish-habits in addition to the odd girlish one do make me feel more… comfortable, I suppose. That, and I discovered - once I stopped screeching about how wretched marriage surely must be - that I want to shoulder my responsibility as a woman of high birth within the Seven Kingdoms. I'm ready to accept all the responsibility of being a noble, and I'm ready for the changes I can make for the good of those small folk who haven't the power, the coin or the alliances to make those changes alone. I saved the lives of three women and changed them for the better – something I was only able to do as a circumstance of my birth.

"And when I did that, I realised that this is what I want. Yes, I have to get married, and yes, I still have a good deal of moral outrage over that fact, but I've accepted that I must do so and I freely admit that if it has to be anyone, I'm very lucky that it's Gendry I'll be marrying. If it means that I have the power to run this castle and help the smallfolk here and see to the continued prosperity of this kingdom, I will do so gladly. I would, of course, prefer to be in Winterfell, away from the heat, away from the storms, back where the summer snow chills my fingers to the bone, but it cannot be so. That is not my future. That luxury belongs to Robb and Nymeria. To Bran and Meera. To you and whichever lovely lady you choose to marry, one day. My future lays here. In Storm's End. As Gendry's wife. Lady Arya Baratheon."

Jon made a slight face at the title.

"Sounds strange to the ear, hearing you called anything other than Stark."

"I'll always be a Stark," she laughed. "Even as Lady Baratheon, I suspect I'll continue to be called Stark. Gendry calls me it every time he's mildly put out with me. 'There goes Arya Stark again, they'll say, 'That girl never did fall into line, even when she wed such a fine man. Shame, really, but she's the fiercest lady in the Seven Kingdoms, don't you know? She'll ride into battle to protect your sons as surely as she'll protect her own. A fierce she-wolf of the North sporting an antlered crown, my how it calms my soul to know my son's life is guarded by such a woman.'"

"You imagine they'll sing you praises?" Jon asked, chuckling at her acting skills.

"They already do," Arya said quietly. She looked humbly at her feet for a moment. "You've been so focused on the notion that I might've been tamed, you've missed the parts of the story where I've showed my teeth and protected those within this realm. I saved Gendry from an assassin. I saved Helga, Bridy and Bromilda from their terrible circumstances; ensured they had jobs and were cared for and seen to. I made Bridy one of my handmaidens, despite the habit I have of refusing maidens at all. The Highborns all chatter and gossip and smirk that such a wild wolf pup can be leashed by a man with a strong hand. The smallfolk, however? Well, shall we take a stroll through the courtyards, dear brother? The smallfolk adore me. A few of the old men roll their eyes and turn up their noses at the idea of their Lady wearing britches, but many of the women look at me with awe and with envy. Most approve, and those who don't are growing to accept my ways, just the same."

Jon regarded her for a long moment in silence after that.

"Besides, just because I agreed to marry him and I'm on my best behaviour for the sake of Father's honour, I'm hardly about to just lie down and become a doormat. I give Gendry plenty of cheek. I snap and I snarl and do all the things I've always done. It's just causing less of a stir because as long as Gendry doesn't disapprove, Mother bites her tongue on scolding me."

Jon laughed at that, reaching an arm out for her and pulling her into an embrace.

"I've missed you, little sister," he murmured into her hair when Arya wrapped her arms around his ribs.

"I've missed you too," Arya replied, her throat tight as she cuddled him close. "Gods, I've missed you. All of you. Robb. Bran. Rickon. I even missed Sansa. But I missed you the most, Jon. You've always been my favourite brother."

"Winterfell isn't the same without you," he said, leaning against the battlements without letting her go. "It feels… empty. Robb and Bran are always busy with their new wives. Father has been here with you and Rickon is right at that age where he's almost man enough to act maturely, but so bloody mouthy that it's a miracle I haven't murdered him."

Arya laughed. She'd noticed when conversing with her youngest brother upon their arrival that he was cheekier than ever.

"I believe Father means to leave Rickon here with me after the wedding is over and everyone goes home," she said. "Out of Mother's reach for a while, he said. Else she'll try to have him married off this year, too."

"The last thing we need is that little shit marrying anyone and bringing her home to Winterfell," Jon grumbled.

"What about you?" Arya asked, leaning back in his hold to peer at him. "Has a pretty lady caught your eye enough that you might be tempted?"

Jon rolled his eyes.

"I might be the bastard of a Lord, but I'm still a bastard, little sister. None of the girls want to look twice at me."

"That's a lie and you know it," she chided. "I distinctly saw a few of Gendry's sisters eyeing you off when they spotted you."

"And they all turned up their noses when they realised I'm the Stark bastard," he replied.

"Actually, most of them don't care too much about that here," Arya said. "Robert has so many bastards with the local whores that the girls are all rather used to it. The man has nine children with Lady Mina, and I think that at last count, he had another fifteen bastards, just in the Stormlands. That's not counting however many he might've fucked into the whores and tavern girls he encountered before he was married. Honestly, I don't know why you get so touchy about the subject, Jon. You should meet Mya Stone. She's Gendry elder sister – the bastard that cost Robert our Aunt Lyanna when she heard of Mya's birth. She's brilliant."

"I've heard about her," Jon nodded. "At the Eeyrie, isn't she?"

"Yes. But she's promised to be back for the wedding. She's Gendry's favourite sister. She wouldn't miss it for the world," Arya grinned.

"Ironic that you and Gendry each have a favoured sibling who happens to be bastard born," Jon said.

"Lucky, I'd call it," she replied. "Can I ask you something?"

"What now?" he asked, narrowing her eyes suspiciously at the innocently leading tone she adopted.

Arya bit her lip, cuddling into his chest once more before daring to ask her question, unsure she wanted him to see her face should he refuse her request.

"Will you stay here with me?" she asked softly. "Please? I miss you so much when we're apart and I might be beginning to accept having to live here, but I loathe this castle mostly because it lacks all of the things I adore about Winterfell. The most prominent of which happens to be you, Jon Snow."

Jon went still against her before pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

"We'd have to clear it with Father and with Lord Robert," he answered. "I don't have the freedom of the highborns to impose on whomever I choose. And besides, what would I do here? Other than put up with your rot?"

"Be here with me. You like training the hounds and Storm's End doesn't have a decent Hound Master. Or there are a thousand things you could do, there's plenty of openings for jobs," Arya told him.

"And what of you marital duties, Arya?" Jon asked. "You aren't going to feel much like letting that big brute of a Baratheon fuck his babies into you when you could be off tormenting me into a duel."

"Oh, I can assure you, I'll be only too happy to uphold my marriage duties," Arya replied before her cheeks turned crimson and she pulled out of Jon's embrace, shocked at her own words.

He stared at her with wide eyes for a minute before he burst out laughing.

"Stop laughing!" Arya demanded, stomping her foot childishly and making Jon laugh all the more.

"A little enamoured with Gendry, are you?" he teased.

"I'll push you from the battlements, Jon," Arya warned.

"You wouldn't, I'm your favourite brother," Jon retorted.

Needing to distract him before he could tease her even more, Arya shoved him.

"Fine. Then the last one to the stables in a rotten egg!" she declared before spinning on her heels and racing away for the nearest staircase.

"Oi!" Jon shouted, his heavy footsteps pounding behind her as she raced down the stairs fast enough to make her mother's head spin.

Arya tore through the castle with Jon in her wake, darting around servants, dashing past Sansa and some of the other ladies, laughing as she went.

"Arya!" Sansa called in protest as she passed her, racing for the Great Hall and the shortcut across the courtyard beyond to reach the stables.

The commotion drew the attention of everyone in the hall when Arya raced inside, leaping right over the head of a small boy toddling about and almost tripping her.

"What's the rush?" Bran shouted, spotting Jon racing a few steps behind her.

"Last one to the stable is a rotten egg!" Ayra shouted, spotting both Bran and Rickon in the Hall. The scrape of chairs as both boys leaped to their feet to chase her drew even more attention and she didn't doubt many of the other highborn lords were shaking their heads disapprovingly as she raced with her brothers on her heels.

Some of Gendry's younger brothers, Roland among them, raced with them, falling behind the Stark clan as they darted around servants, dodged merchants and shouted apologies to Lords and Ladies. Rickon crashed into a serving wench and only just managed to catch the poor girl, spinning her neatly out of his way before she could be trampled and Arya laughed all the more at the promise he called over his shoulder to kiss her better later.

"You'll never catch me, boys!" Arya laughed, taunting them all as she dashed past Gendry's forge, spying him inside it. He looked up as she dashed past with her brothers and many other following her wake.

"What's she done now?!" Arya heard him shout after Jon, laying down his hammer to follow them.

Arya dashed into the stable, racing for Visenya's stall and snatching up the mare's bridle.

"You'll never make it out the gates before me, Arya!" Rickon shouted a challenge when he raced into the stall across from hers, his gelding stomped a foot and his eyes rolled in protest.

"Watch me, little brother," Arya laughed, vaulting aboard Visenya while she was still in the stall. Kicking the mare's sides, Arya clung on, bareback, and they tore out of the stall just ahead of the children who'd followed. Arya galloped into the courtyard, drawing alarmed cries from the smallfolk as Rickon followed a few paces behind. When Ghost, Summer, Nymeria and Shaggy all joined the race, people fled before the Stark children in their terror

Arya laughed, whooping loudly and racing for the gate in the distance, knowing she could outpace Rickon. Bran appeared astride his bay gelding, pulling ahead by a nose and Arya growled at him while the wolves yipped, snarled and snapped at one another. Jon was on their heels and Rickon shouted over the idea that he might come last.

When they all burst through the gate, Arya heard Bran shout.

"First one to the tree-line gets the other's desert for tonight's meal!" he challenged, spurring his gelding forward.

"You're on, Bran!" Jon shouted, galloping for it astride his dappled grey.

When Arya looked over her shoulder, she could see Roland and some of the youngsters trying to keep up with them, having paused to collect their own ponies while others gave up the chase. Beyond them, she spied Gendry and her father up on the battlements above the gate, both of them watching the chaos as she raced her brothers to the tree-line. She couldn't hide the smile that pulled her lips high and she tipped her head back to howl in delight as she faced forward to continue the race.

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

"Do I want to know?" Gendry asked of Ned Stark, watching his betrothed as she raced her brothers, howling like a wolf herself.

"High spirits," Ned shrugged. "She missed the lot of them."

"Aye, she misses Winterfell, too," Gendry agreed, watching the race for the tree-line. Rickon looked like he might win, his horse pulling ahead of the others while the wolves dashed beside their masters.

"She misses the cold and she misses the familiarity," Ned nodded. "But having her brothers here will make her see it's the people, not the castle, that makes a home."

"And when you all return to Winterfell without her?" Gendry wanted to know.

"I've been speaking with Robert about leaving Rickon here, for a time," Ned said. "Else his mother will try to marry the lad off before his voice even breaks."

Gendry chuckled.

"You know she missed Jon the most," he said.

"Aye, she did. I've half a mind to leave him here too, if your castle can handle more mouths to feed. Or perhaps to send him back a short time after the wedding. If I leave the two of them here with her, you'll never get her in the bedchamber long enough to give me grandchildren," Ned smirked.

Gendry smirked in return, biting his tongue on the idea that he doubted he'd have trouble keeping his betrothed in the bedchamber. Getting her out of the bedchamber would be the trick.

"When does the King arrive?" Gendry asked rather than voicing his thoughts. He didn't expect Ned Stark wanted to know just what Gendry had been doing to Arya in private.

"Three days, I believe," Ned murmured.

"Father's going to need to be kept well distracted while Rhaegar and Lyanna are here," Gendry worried quietly as the Stark siblings pushed their horses to run in circles around one another, crashing practice swords together in the distance.

"Aye," Ned agreed. "It wouldn't do to see him beheaded for getting mouthy with Rhaegar."

"Lyanna is coming, isn't she?" Gendry confirmed.

"Yes, despite my request against it," Ned admitted. "It will kill Robert to see her again after all this time. Especially when she's pregnant again, I hear."

"How many Targaryens does that make now, between her and Elia?" Gendry wanted to know.

"Sixteen, I believe. Elia is pregnant again too," Ned replied, looking like the idea annoyed him.

"Braver man than me," Gendry muttered. "One woman seems entirely too much work, let alone two."

Ned looked over at him in surprise for a moment before he threw his head back and began to laugh.

"Living with Arya will be more work that living with ten women would be," Ned chuckled. "And it's often said of the Targaryens that the prolific inbreeding dooms them to greatness or madness. Perhaps Rhaegar falls on the side of madness, to crave two wives and to be so foolish as to breed them both at the same time."

Gendry began to laugh as well.

"Do you have any idea how to corral my Father while they're here?" he asked. "I don't fancy having my wedding ruined with a declaration for war from the King of the Seven Kingdoms."

"I plan to get Robert drunk enough that I can lock him in a cupboard until the whole ordeal is over."

"A month in a cupboard might do him some good," Gendry chuckled. "Or there's always the dungeons."

"I'm sure Lyanna would find that notion amusing," Ned shook his head.

"She hates him, doesn't she?" Gendry guessed, never having met the woman.

"I don't think so," Ned shook his head. "She did, for a time, in our youth. When she learned that he wasn't above crawling between every whore's legs and fucking them full of his bastards, Lyanna was furious. That he would dishonour their betrothal that way never sat right with her. It's why she even considered the idea of looking sideways at Rhaegar, else she never would've. Even if the King is too charming for his own good. She'd have done her duty and married Robert in spite of Rhaegar's interest if he'd used his head to make his decisions instead of his cock."

"Aye, most days Mother hates him for the same reason," Gendry muttered.

Ned nodded sombrely.

"Lyanna no longer hates him, I believe. She pities him. She believed, when she fell for Rhaegar, that she was doing herself a favour by breaking the betrothal, and doing Robert one too. Make no mistake, if my Father hadn't allowed her to do it, if he'd pushed her to marry Robert, our kingdoms would've gone to war when he dishonoured Lyanna in marriage as surely as he'd done in betrothal. She'd likely have slit his throat herself, come to think of it – very much like Arya in that way. No, she thought that he mustn't want her and so wouldn't care if she broke things off. She believed he'd no interest in her, else he'd never have strayed."

"What do you believe?" Gendry asked of the man.

Ned scratched his beard thoughtfully before glancing around to make sure they wouldn't be overheard.

"I believe Robert only claims his undying love for her because she spurned him. Had they wed, he'd have still strayed. He was intrigued, and maybe he even fancied her back then. But being told he couldn't have her after being promised for so long that she would be his… it never sat right with him. It'd be a bit like me letting Arya ride off to Winterfell with those brothers of hers to marry Theon or something."

"Except she doesn't fancy Theon," Gendry commented. "The love story of Queen Lyanna and King Rhaegar is told throughout the Seven Kingdoms."

"Aye, well like I said, Rhaegar's a charming fucker and most of his sons are growing up just the same. Watch out for his brother, though. Viserys is a snivelling piece of shit and their sister, Daenerys is almost a lady."

"Almost?" Gendry asked.

"Aye, almost. She and Lyanna are good friends, despite Daenerys being closer in age to Sansa and Elia's eldest daughter, Rhaenys. She's quiet, but she can be very outspoken and very much for the rights of the downtrodden. She takes on slavers and naysayers of freedom."

"Wild, then?" Gendry guessed.

"Powerful," Ned disagreed. "Prince Aegon will rule after Rhaegar, but Daenerys is the 'Dragon' of the bunch."

"The same way Arya has the 'wolf-blood'?" Gendry frowned.

Ned glanced at him sharply. "Aye, if you believe such things. The dragons are gone, but the magic remains. Arya and Daenerys made fast friends at Sansa's wedding."

"They are all coming to this one?" Gendry frowned. "Do they often drag themselves across the Seven Kingdoms this way?"

"No," Ned's grin was tight. "No, they make exceptions for family. Elia and most of her children didn't come to Robb or Bran's wedding. They all attended Sansa's to Willas. Couldn't afford not to, not without risking offending High Garden. The food supply comes from there, so it wasn't worth missing it. Lyanna and Rhaegar attended all three, and will attend Rickon's when it comes time. They'll all be here for Arya's wedding, some merely for the same reason as every other Lord and Lady is making an appearance. They all want to see, first hand, the shame they expect Arya will bring upon herself. Many believe she'll be dragged to you in chains."

Gendry chuckled. He doubted his bride-to-be would have to be dragged, though she might throw a few more tantrums before she swore before her Old Gods to be his wife for as long as they both lived.

"They're in for some disappointment," Gendry told Ned. "She'll meet me there without a single protest when the day of the wedding comes."

Ned looked sceptical. "Not if she makes a break for it before then. Will you handle the shame of it when she does?"

Gendry noted that he said 'when' and not 'if'.

"I'll hunt her down and drag her back."

"Chains or not, you or I dragging her is what they want to see," Ned said seriously.

"You truly believe she'll run?"

Ned's mouth twisted, his eyes travelling to the middle distance, where four of his six children cavorted aboard their steeds, wolves as big as horses right there amongst them.

"Aye, lad," he sighed. "She'll run. She'll high-tail it for Winterfell when she sees how many people have come to sneer at her for having to marry. So long spent fighting it and such rudeness in her fight haven't won her many friends. More than half your wedding guests have only come to watch her be forced into the one thing she swore she'd never do. Arya's as brave as they come when it's about riding into battle or shouting at her mother about how she refuses to be a prim and proper highborn lady. But she's fought so hard to be considered anything but a lady, that it will terrify her to be thought one when she marries you."

"What do I do?" Gendry asked, frowning.

"Everything you've been doing," Ned shrugged. "Make no mistake, lad. If I didn't think I could entrust her to your care knowing she'd always return to me in the same condition as right now, or better for it, I'd have ridden out of this castle and taken her with me, no matter the war Robert would've declared upon the North for it. When she runs, you go after her. You remind her that she's better off with you than with anyone else. You remind her that if she marries you on her terms, she's not falling into line like all these slobbering fools want to see. You accept that she might refuse to meet you at that alter in a pretty dress when she can wear muddy boots and a ripped shirt."

Gendry would admit, he didn't much like that last idea. He liked the way Arya looked when she wore dresses. He liked the way she looked all dressed to spar with him, too, but he'd like to see her all dressed up and there was no other occasion she would consider important enough for a fancy dress than her own wedding.

"You think she'll run soon?" Gendry asked. "Or not until the day of the wedding?"

Ned watched his children a moment longer before looking over at Gendry.

"I've already been keeping an eye on her," Ned replied evenly. Gendry cringed wondering if that meant he was aware of the way he and Arya had been sneaking off together. "But if I were you, I'd start watching her now. With the arrival of her brothers, she'll be thinking more and more of home. I'd reckon that when the King and all his host arrive, that'll trigger her to run. Princes Aegon is her good-cousin, and he's a cheeky sod. He'll rib her about falling into line and needing a firm hand or a big cock to tie her down and she'll start to think they're all here to laugh at her. Then she'll run."

Gendry nodded slowly.

"If I were to punch Aegon…?" he suggested and Ned laughed.

"The little shit would punch you right back even though he's a foot shorter, and as wide around the chest as one of your legs. He'd likely taunt you all the more, too. A lifetime of being told he'll rule the Seven Kingdoms and training with folk who won't seriously pull him too far into line has left him with a bloated sense of self-confidence."

"Doesn't the King pull him up?" Gendry asked, recalling the number of times his own father cut him and his brothers down to size when they got too big for their britches.

"Oh, he does," Ned laughed. "But Rhaegar's cut from the same cloth. He might have the ability to back up his cheek – Aegon probably does too – but they're both cheeky and know they can get away with it as King and Crown Prince. Who's going to pull them into line?"

"Lyanna?" Gendry guessed.

Ned laughed, nodding. "That, she does. Elia shakes her head about it all, but Lyanna rips them both to pieces when the need arises. Doesn't worry about being caught dressing either of them down in public, that woman."

"She sounds very much like Arya," Gendry shook his head, chuckling at the idea.

Ned Stark sighed, looking out across the flats at his daughter as her mare reared up.

"Arya's colder than Lyanna ever was. Even as a girl. Lyanna didn't mind being a Lady sometimes as long as she still got to play with us lads. As the only girl, she got away with it. She was always wild, and beautiful, and she always knew it. Arya, on the other hand, grew up in Sansa's shadow. Catelyn is a beautiful woman and Sansa is her spitting image. Part of the reason Arya is so wild and wilful and scornful of everything it means to be a lady, is because she hated being told that she would never be as pretty as Sansa; as good at sewing; as much a prim and proper princess. She needed a way to distinguish herself from her sister, to escape that shadow. When she grew a little wild, everyone began to compare her to Lyanna. Another shadow to walk inside of."

Ned shook his head from side to side, as though the thoughts plaguing his might rattle loose.

"She sought a way to outshine those shadows she found herself in, Gendry, and she found it. In Olden times, thousands of years ago, the North had a succession of Queens running Winterfell and lording it over the others. They were powerful and brave. They led their men into battle. They ran their kingdoms without the need for a man to run it for them while they sat and sewed. Arya might as well have stepped right out of that time. She'll make the most fearsome Lady in the Realms, more so than either Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, or even the Ladies of House Mormont. If you let her, she'll charge into battle in defence of you and your kingdom. She'll run Storm's End with all the efficiency of a man and she'll rip you to pieces if you mess up. She's powerful, but she's cold and she feels like she's got something to prove.

"In the time we've been here, I've seen some of that need begin to fade. She doesn't feel like she's got to go out of her way to prove she's not a Lady because you don't pull her up on it when she does something unladylike and you don't heap false praises on her or tease her if she does a few girly things. I'll be honest, lad. I want this to work more than you know. If she doesn't marry you, she'll kill whoever else I throw her at and she'll end up sitting in Winterfell, bored, wasting her talents, and collecting declarations for war with House Stark."

Gendry nodded his head.

"I have no intention of letting her go, Lord Stark," Gendry said quietly, watching his woman as she sparred with her brothers and kicked her horse into another gallop, the others racing after her like the pack of direwolves they all were. "I'll wear the blow of everyone's laughter if she runs. I'll track her down and bring her back every time she tries to quit on me or balks."

Ned watched him for a long moment.

"Why her?" he asked finally, assessing Gendry carefully. "I never asked before, assuming that you saw in her what I see, but even I cringe over the way she embarrasses me and dishonours herself and House Stark, at times. Why are you so willing to let those slights go?"

Gendry glanced sideways at the Warden of the North.

"She's not afraid of me in my battle armour," he said quietly.

Ned raised his eyebrows.

"I've seen you dressed for battle, son. Everyone is a little fearful of you," Ned said.

Gendry shook his head.

"Not Arya," he replied. "You probably don't want to hear exactly what she said to me when I put it on in front of her, but she's not afraid of me, I know that much."

Ned's mouth twitched as though he might bare his teeth at the idea.

"Even my mother is afraid of me in my armour, Lord Stark. And I hate that feeling when they all look at me with fear in their eyes as though I might run them through at any moment. She and my sisters and even some of my brothers cringe in the face of my temper when I let it fly. Arya doesn't. She bares those teeth at me and she snarls like a wolf and she meets me word for word. She doesn't back down or run away or cringe in fear that I might snap her in half. She pokes and prods until I want to tear her hair out and pitch her from the cliffs. She's also not a twit. I met with a lot of the Ladies of the realm before Father wrote to you, Ned. They all wanted my castle and to be Lady Baratheon. They all wanted to spread their legs and let me fuck my heirs into them for the chance, with no sense of self-respect or even a care about what sort of man I might be. The number who tried to throw themselves at me to trap me into marrying them, thinking I must be like my father, was ludicrous."

"And you don't have to worry about any of those things with Arya." Ned shook his head slowly. "She doesn't want the title – at least, not for the sake of rubbing anyone's nose in it – and she certainly has no interest in heirs for a good while, yet. I doubt she'd ever fling herself at you, lad, no matter your looks."

Gendry laughed.

"No, she'd snap and snarl at me until I pin her to something to pull her back into line before she gets really mean," Gendry laughed. "I don't mind the blows my ego and my honour will take when the other Lords all sneer that she's too wild and not enough a lady because I know I'll never have to fear finding her in someone else's bed. I know she'll help me run this Kingdom and she won't be afraid to tell me I'm being stupid when I fuck up. I know that she'll never poison me or betray me to some other Lord for power or coin. She might try to stab me in the eye when she's gets angry with me, but I'm bigger than her."

Ned laughed.

"Watch out for her habit of slashing at your hamstrings if she can't reach your throat," he warned.

Gendry chuckled.

"Aye," he said. "But that's why I want her. I could've had any number of pretty lady who'd smile and simper and bare me strong sons and sit pretty in my castle when I ride off into battle, but I've never wanted that. As I'm sure you can imagine, having a Lord who spends most of the castle treasury on Dornish wine and giggling whores hasn't been the most prosperous means of running a kingdom. And my mother isn't a lady like Arya, who spent her days listening to her brothers' lessons on how to run a castle and such things. She was a silly, idealistic girl like most highborn girls tend to be when she married Robert. She thought she'd gotten herself the most handsome man in the seven kingdoms. To find him little more than a war-mongering, whore-chasing drunk was unpleasant for her, at best. I know without doubt that she's had to borrow heavily from her family – the Tyrells – to keep this kingdom afloat. The smallfolk don't like her because she'd had to tax them hard and has let some things fall to ruin because she didn't know until it was too late that they needed tending.

"There will be certain things that need to be fixed for the good of my kingdom and I need a woman by my side who understands that. I don't need a twit who'll pout that I'm spending too much time on the smallfolk or who'll demand fancy jewels the kingdom can't afford just to look pretty. I need a woman like Arya next to me. Sure, she might ruffle a few feathers from the surrounding kingdoms, but I don't envision her bitching that I'm spending too little time on her whilst mending the kingdom."

Ned nodded slowly, still watching him shrewdly, intrigued by his explanation and perhaps pleased that he had a better head on his shoulders than Robert did.

"How do you plan to handle the Lannister's attempt on your life?" Ned asked.

Gendry raised his eyebrows.

"To be honest, I thought we'd already handled it. Sending the assassin's body back to Larissa should've gotten the message across that further attempts on my life will be foiled and that no amount of subterfuge will see me marrying Larissa instead of Arya."

"I wouldn't be so sure, lad," Ned sighed. "Larissa might've acted alone, but it would behove you, when Lord Tywin arrives for the wedding, to speak to him about the matter and ensure he's informed. That girl is a snake in lion's colours and she'll twist the insult back as some crass display of triumph on Arya's behalf, construing it as insult heaped upon the insult of your refusal of her."

Gendry nodded seriously.

"I also suggest keeping Arya very far from Larissa during the proceedings of the wedding. I expect Larissa will be one of the ones here to gloat over Arya's misbehaviour and her apparent enforced betrothal. Arya will, undoubtedly, unleash much of her fury with everyone else's gloating upon the Lannister girl, if possible."

"You think she'd hurt her?" Gendry asked.

"I know she'll hurt her," Ned said quietly. "And gladly. She's done it before. If Larissa is a snake in lion's colour, Arya is surely the wolf of her name and her blood, in temperament and violence. Never doubt that should she believe her life or that of the 'pack' is threatened, she will hunt down and destroy that threat as surely as a wolf bringing down a stag in the woods."

Gendry didn't miss the reference to his own house sigil being the usual prey of the direwolf sigil house Stark bore and he wondered as he looked back toward his woman astride her mare, if he yet counted as a member of her 'pack'.